by Lindy Zart
“Girls don’t get diarrhea,” I say, turning my face from Ben’s view.
He snorts. “I have a sister. Believe me, girls do.”
I smile, focusing on a butterfly as it flutters by. “I’m sure she’d appreciate you telling people that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m generally not one to share secrets. That’s you.”
I am instantly furious, my face and body on fire with it. I thought we were on the path to being okay. I should have known better. I swing around to face Ben and shriek, “Why do you have to ruin everything?”
Face twisted, Ben lunges to a standing position, vibrating with retribution. “Because you ruined us before we really had a chance!”
I stumble back from the wrath of his tone. I clearly see the pain in his eyes. It’s deep. He’s so good at hiding his emotions that I never expected to see such hurt on his face. It stuns me speechless. It lets me know how much I could have meant to Ben—how much I might have already meant. Tears fall from my eyes before I have a chance to realize they even formed.
“Because I don’t know what’s real with you,” he continues in a quieter voice.
My throat closes around any words I might want to say.
“Because…I see possibilities of what could be, and I don’t know if they’re all an illusion. Because I want this you to be real.”
“Ben—” I lift out a hand beseechingly, wishing I could take away the hurt crushing his eyes with a brush of my hand.
“I was falling for you, Avery,” he says in a choked voice. “Maybe I already had, because I can’t imagine anything hurting as much as your betrayal did. And you acted like it was no big deal, like you couldn’t understand my animosity. That’s what pisses me off the most—you made me care about you and then you threw my emotions away, like they never mattered, like I never mattered. I thought you were special. Turns out I was an idiot.”
A sob leaves me, my chest heavy with grief. “That’s not true, Ben. I do care about you.”
His eyes shine with sorrow; Ben’s mouth is pulled down with it. “I don’t know who you are, but what’s even sadder than that is that you don’t seem to know who you are.”
I clasp my hands together beneath my chin, unconsciously begging him to listen to me, to hear me. To see me. “I’m trying to show you!”
“How can I believe anything you do or say?”
“You can’t, not if you don’t want to.”
Ben lowers his head. “I guess I don’t.”
“I give up,” I whisper, shaking my head.
His eyes clash with mine, something like fear in them, but I pretend I don’t see it. When Ben says my name, I pretend I don’t hear it. I’ve tried and tried to get Ben to see past my mistakes, and he can’t, or won’t. I’m tired of it all, and it’s wearing me down. There is a point when enough is enough. I’ve reached it.
With jerky movements and muttered curses, I drop to the ground, curl up, and squeeze my eyes shut, blocking Ben from sight. I wish I could block him from my mind and heart as well.
BEN
I sit across from Avery, studying her. A full day spent with her and I don’t know her any better. Or maybe I do, but I don’t want to see it.
I give up.
The words echo through my consciousness, stabbing my heart each time.
I cross my arms to keep from reaching for her. At this point, I’m fighting myself more than I am her. I already know I want her. I know I enjoy her company, quirks and all. I also know I would have to be some kind of stupid to open up to Avery any more than I have. Like I told her, she’ll use it against me; she did before. We’ll get back to civilization and she’ll somehow profit from this ordeal, I know it.
I give up.
I grind my teeth together, hating those words, and that they came from her mouth. Avery doesn’t give up. And yet, she is, on me. It’s what you want, isn’t it? If it is, why does it make me feel so shitty?
A bird cries in the distance and she jerks. Avery stills, but she never opens her eyes. I glance at the hunting knife near my boots, unease worming its way into my mind to pick and prod. I don’t trust the sight of this weapon in the middle of nowhere. It shouldn’t be here.
“Avery.” I say her name softly, her eyes immediately opening. There’s weariness in them. The need to protect her flares up, even if it’s from me. I scoot closer, sitting beside her. Our arms touch, and she shifts away. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to.” There is an edge to her tone, a warning.
I ignore it. “Do it anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll make us both feel better. Talk to me.”
A crease forms between her eyebrows. “About what?”
I hold her gaze, her irises catching the light of the sun. It gives her an otherworldly aura. “Anything.”
Again, Avery asks, “Why?”
Her question is valid. I know what she’s thinking. Why would I want to know anything about her when all I do is try to push her away? “Why did you come to Illinois?”
“I told you—”
The look on my face halts her words.
Avery brings her knees to her chin, hooking her arms around her legs. “I was looking for something.”
I don’t release her gaze. “Did you find it?”
The air seems to grow hotter as we stare into each other’s eyes.
“Yes…” she answers. “And no.”
“Why no?”
Avery moves her hands to her face, sighing.
Despondency is etched into her pose, as if the weight of things she cannot change is too heavy for her. She is nothing like I thought she was, and I’m still not sure what she’s like. I tell her, “You’re a complex individual.”
Avery drops her hands, looking at me as she laughs with exasperation. “Am I? I think I’m pretty simple.”
“Really?”
She turns her head, looking into the trees.
“How so?” I press. Tell me, Avery. Tell me you’re nothing like I thought you were. Or tell me you’re exactly as I thought.
“I wish I could close my eyes, and when I opened them, we’d be back home,” she whispers.
I have to agree with her. “What would you be doing right now, if you were at home?”
“Probably trying new ways of styling my hair, maybe online shopping, or something equally silly.” She sniffles. “You?”
“Let’s see.” I tip my head back and look at the clouds. “It’s Sunday. I would most likely be at The Wolves’ Den on Marquette, playing pool with Bob.”
“Do you like playing pool?” Avery asks.
“I do,” I tell her. “They’ll find us today. You can be home by tonight and do those silly things you like, all right? And I can play pool again on a Sunday afternoon to pass the time. Just a couple more hours out here. You can do it.”
Avery spontaneously bursts into tears, hiding her face against her knees.
Alarmed, I demand, “What’s wrong?”
I thought I would enjoy seeing Avery beaten down. I don’t. It’s wrong, and I hate it. Nothing should make her feel this way. She’s too strong, and stubborn, to let anything get to her.
“I don’t have a razor,” Avery wails. “I’m going to look like a Sasquatch before too long.”
I choke back laughter, a funny sound escaping me as I do. Nothing about this maddening scene so far has made her cry, but the thought of being hairy does it.
“And what if I get my period before we’re found?” she continues pitifully.
My stomach lurches at the thought of Avery’s blood running freely unto the land, any thought of laughter immediately wiped from existence.
“What am I going to do, put leaves in my underwear? Leaves are not absorbent!”
Shaking my head against an impromptu head rush, I look to the ground and watch shadows at play as the sun shifts. “When is it due?”
“Next week.” Avery sniffles, wiping an arm across her face.
I exhale lou
dly. “That’s good. We’ve got some time.”
That makes her cry harder, to the point where she tries to speak and all that comes out are choked sounds.
“We won’t still be here next week,” I hasten to correct.
“How do you know?” Avery asks once she can produce intelligible words. She sniffles. “I wish I was home. I hate it here. I know I sound like a baby, but I really, really, really hate it out here.”
“Have faith, Avery.” I don’t think I sound the least convincing, but I must to a certain degree, because she stops crying and looks at me.
“My mom used to say that faith is something no one can ever take from you,” Avery supplies shakily.
“Your mom sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.”
Her face crumples and she cries harder.
Eyes trained on the woods around us, I skim the area for any approaching predators. I’m not good at the consoling thing, and yet, I want her to stop crying, and not because of the ear-splitting sobs that may attract all kinds of wild animals—or repel them. They could do that too, I suppose. Still, I don’t like seeing her hurt. And that’s a real kicker, because I’ve been on this self-righteous quest of vengeance against Avery, the perceived wrongdoer, for months. It seems ridiculous now, given the circumstances.
Therefore, I pull her against me, holding her shaking frame within my arms, and say, “Avery. Please don’t cry.”
She lifts her head, her eyes gemlike, her face flawless even while sunburned, scratched, and splotchy from tears. “You made me eat the rest of the trail mix.”
It takes a moment for her words to sink in. “Okay?”
A wrinkle forms between her eyebrows. “You went without so I didn’t have to.”
I run a hand along the back of my neck and avert my face. “Yeah. So?”
“You don’t hate me.”
I turn my head to look at her and say with utmost sincerity, “I don’t hate you, Avery. Not even a little.”
“Then why do you try so hard to convince me you do?”
“I thought…” I rub my eyes. “I thought it would make things easier. It hasn’t.”
It makes her cry some more, but she’s smiling when she lassoes her arms around my neck. Avery presses a kiss to my neck and whispers, “Thank you for being honest.”
I lift my arms and wrap them around her midsection, holding her tight. I want to get past this vendetta I have against her; I need to get past it. I’m hurting myself along with Avery, and I’m missing out on something that could be awesome. Only, I don’t know how to trust her, or if I should. I rest my head to hers and sigh deeply.
Avery pulls back and focuses on me. “Do you have two parents?”
I frown, finding the question odd. “Yes. Doesn’t everyone?”
“I mean, they were both in your life growing up?”
“Yes. Were yours?” She’s mentioned a mother, but never a father, and any time the conversation veered toward her mom, she quickly changed it.
“Tell me about yours,” Avery urges, ignoring the question.
A memory hits me and I smile. “One day, I was walking down the street with my friends. I was twelve or thirteen. This car pulls up, bass so loud the street is vibrating from it, and the windows roll down to reveal my mom and dad. They saw me with my friends and purposely set out to embarrass me. I was so annoyed with them, but they laughed and drove off.
“When I got home and complained about it, my parents told me they’re a set pair. It always stuck with me. They meant it to mean that if I was going to be embarrassed by one of them, I was going to get it from both of them. But for me, it meant I had security in knowing that, no matter what, my parents would be there for me, together. And they always have been.”
Avery lets out a soft sigh. “That’s nice, Ben, I like that.”
“Yeah, my parents are pretty awesome. I’m lucky.”
I think of my dad with his gruff laughter and my mom with her sweet smile and I hope to God I get to see them soon. I wonder if the authorities have been notified; I wonder if my parents have been told. I hope my sister hasn’t been told. She’ll overreact.
And I can just see my brief, but unforgettable childhood friend, Opal Allen, slanting an eyebrow at me and asking me how I managed to get lost in a national forest. I need to get in contact with her if I ever make it out of here. It’s been too long. She and Avery would love each other. I freeze at the thought, wondering why in the hell that came to mind. As if Avery and I are a pair. No way in hell.
“Parents are always there for you, especially to embarrass you,” Avery muses, a faraway look on her face.
“Don’t steal it, all right?” I say half-jokingly. “I might want to use a quote from that story someday.”
“I wouldn’t,” she protests, jumping to her feet.
My voice is even when I say, “You did.”
Her face drops and Avery turns, hugging herself. “I didn’t know it meant that much to you,” she whispers.
I focus on the sky as a flock of birds sweep through the trees. “You should have.”
It was Duke’s birthday party. He planned it, because that was the only way it was going to be exactly what he wanted. A huge, luxurious yacht was rented for the evening, and his friends and employees were given their fill of food and drinks as it traveled up and down the length of the Chicago River. A band was hired, and fireworks filled the black sky with bursts of light and sound.
“You looked beautiful that night,” I tell her now. I clearly picture her standing on the vessel with the moon as a backdrop. She shone. “Red dress, red shoes, red lipstick.”
Avery slowly faces me, shadows playing with her features.
“But then, you always do, don’t you?” Old bitterness enters my tone at my next words. “It’s part of the illusion.”
“I’m so sorry, Ben.” A single tear falls down her smooth cheek.
I wonder if she really is sorry. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but the feeling of betrayal when it happened was unconscionable. I didn’t know I could feel that way. She tore out my heart and crushed it beneath her flaming red high heel.
Realizing that she could hurt me that deeply made me glad that it happened early, instead of later, when I was completely in love with her. I’ve done nothing but fight that feeling ever since, building the walls, shoving her out, convincing myself none of it was real. That I don’t want her, and that I don’t care about her. All I do is prove myself wrong, time after time.
“I told you something in confidence,” I say quietly, my gaze locked with hers. “Something I’d never told another soul, and you exploited a moment I cherished for your own gain.”
A faint sound of grief leaves Avery, and two more tears appear. Again, she says, “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know me telling you about the last thing my grandmother ever said to me before she died would be priceless to me? Private?” I shake my head in disgust.
Avery lets out a sob, holding a hand to her mouth, the other palm to her stomach.
It’s time to get it all out. No more bullshit, no more vague digs and lingering resentment. It’s now or never. We need to sort this out.
“No more lies, Avery.” I stare at her hard, willing her to tell the truth, to tell me everything. “No more games. We talk. Now.”
She nods jerkily.
“All right.” I take a deep breath. “You’re right, you know. I guess you didn’t do anything wrong, in the business aspect of it. You could say I didn’t copyright my words, and you would be absolutely right. Legalities have nothing on morality though, Avery, and that’s something you didn’t seem to understand.”
Avery’s eyes shimmer with golden sorrow. “I didn’t set out to hurt you. I know—I know it seems like I did, but I didn’t.”
Heat scalds my face as I shift my jaw. “You saw a way to advance yourself, and you took it, never caring about how it would affect me. You made money off my grandmother’s death.” Even now, it’s hard to
believe. I look at her, and I still don’t understand how she could do it.
“No! I didn’t. That wasn’t how—I never—I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…I knew Duke would be impressed and he put us on the spot and it was the first thing I thought of and—it’s a terrible excuse. I know that. I know that.”
Avery throws her hands up and gestures to herself, openly crying. “I got carried away with this image and I didn’t know how to stop, and I got lost, Ben. I lost who I was. I’m sorry. I’m a million times sorry.”
“Why did you do it?” I demand. I want to know. I have to know.
“I admire you, you know,” Avery whispers, not answering me.
“I can tell,” I scoff.
“I do. So much,” she says with feeling, her hands clasped together as she stands distanced from me by instinct or premeditation.
I slowly stand, eyes locked on the woman who showed me how much I could be hurt. “Don’t lie to me anymore, Avery.”
“I’m not lying.”
My hands fist and my neck muscles tighten. “Don’t lie!”
“I’m not lying,” she screeches.
“Then tell me why you did it!” I roar.
16
AVERY
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. How do I tell him my reasons when they seem so inconsequential now?
“You don’t know,” Ben repeats in disbelief.
“Let me fix this,” I plead, clasping my hands together beneath my chin. “I can fix this.”
“You can’t,” he says, his face darkened with pain. “I wish you could, I really do, but it’s too late.”
“I can, I swear I can.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” I wail. I drop to my knees before him, watching doubt flood his eyes. “But I can. Let me try, please, Ben, let me try.”
“You sold my grandmother’s last words to me, Avery. You sold them to a weight loss program!”
“I know, and it was a horrible thing to do without your permission, but they were beautiful words, and inspiring, and I did it and I’m sorry.”
